by Mara Lynne
These insecurities did not even surface when she was with Damien. Well, maybe she was inexperienced then. That relationship did not grow that much for her to develop such kind of feelings.
Now, they just appear like magic, stopping her from thinking properly. Then she remembers how people slammed her when they found out she was not really a rich man’s daughter, an entrepreneur by right, and most of all, an eligible bachelorette from their social circle. Would it be different if she just so happens to be all that Angel Grant is? Would society accept her for who she is? Would Mary and her circle of elite social friends stop their mockery of her? Would she not feel this way?
Do I even deserve Hunter Stone? she asks herself many times as she gobbles the cracker. He deserves someone better—someone he will not be embarrassed about to introduce to his friends, someone he can bring along with him to charity balls, someone who will not cower when people approach her. Angel does not think she’s that thick-faced to just shrug away that incident with Mary and the press people. It still haunts her—to know that Hunter could have exerted force to silence them all. She will never be safe from anyone’s unsolicited opinions.
Angel heaves a long sigh.
Her crackers are almost wolfed up by her unconsciously.
Nonetheless, none of these things really matter—the insecurities, the concerns, the horrifying reality. All she wants from him is his love. But if she were to marry this man who lives this kind of life, she’ll have to take the challenge of being in his life, being in this life and of being with him.
All because she loves him.
“I have been looking for you.” Hunter’s voice comes from the door. Leaning against the post with his arms across his chest, he then slowly walks toward her, reaching for her waist. “I know that look,” he says.
“I was just thinking.”
“Am I inhabiting your thoughts?” With a grin, he pulls her close to him.
A blush taints her cheeks, a lovely sight for Hunter to see.
“It better be me,” he teases while he taps her nose lightly.
Hunter has indeed become a regular resident of her thoughts. She starts to think of him differently when he opened her doors to the world unknown to her before. Her eyes open to the insurmountable pleasure Hunter brings to her when they make love, when his and her body are in unison, when he holds her with his huge strong hands, when his kisses electrocute her skin and flesh, and when she feels him throb inside her. It’s not repulsive, not anything she thought it would be. She never thought that making love is actually pleasurable. It feels too nice that she’s starting to think it’s becoming a guilty pleasure.
“I’m just getting a little emotional, I think,” she tells him, shaking the thought of wanting to make love to Hunter right in this very spot. They’ve been doing a lot of that when they’re alone together—in their bedroom, in the bath tub, even in the shower. But not in here, she thought. Not when any time any one of the crew members could budge into the door and find them.
“Am I in trouble?” he carefully asks.
“This isn’t really serious,” she says. “I was just wondering how to become Mrs. Stone. I barely know anything about high society or being the wife of an extremely rich man.”
Hunter draws himself nearer to her, so their faces are but an inch away from each other.
“That’s what’s troubling you? That is what’s making these cute little expressions?” A smile forms on his face. “You don’t need to be somebody else, Angel. I want you just like this,” he answers, making it known to her the intensity and truth of his word through his gaze. “I want these eyes, this nose, these lips…”
His touch trails off after his speech.
“I want everything about you. Just the way you are.”
“But I feel like things still don’t make sense to me,” she whispers, lowering her eyes. “Like pieces of a puzzle in the wrong place.”
Hunter presses his lips together, forming a thin line.
“I should not feel this way, right?”
“It’s alright to feel this way, babe,” he says, holding her. “Believe me, I felt the same way too before I knew about your feelings for me.”
Her eyes spark with curiosity all of a sudden.
“I always thought I’ll never be good enough for you. I mean, I could give you anything. That’s not a question. But I knew you never wanted anything from me. You’re too damn proud to need my money, too principled to love me because of what my bank account could offer. I was afraid I’d never be enough for you.”
“Hunter…” A surprised laugh comes out of her mouth. “Seriously?”
“Yes, I did. My entire life, I have never been unsure—until you came. Well, maybe because I badly want you, and you’re very different from the others. Whenever you’re around, you never fail to make me feel less of a man. Do you know what I mean?”
Speechless, she waits for Hunter to enlighten her. She’s not sure if she’s interpreting him right. There’s no way Hunter Stone felt intimidated by her. Who is she to inflict such burden to a man who’s in every way the most intimidating man she has ever known?
“You’re very odd, Angel. You’re unlike any girls I know. You were my constant disappointment, you know.”
Her eyebrow arched, shocked of Hunter’s revelation.
“I have always been in control with things, but then there was you who I could scarcely manipulate. And that brought me out of my sanity. I was always in contest with myself, trying to figure you out, trying to find out how to make you see me, attempting to get a reaction from you. All these led me to deny that I was actually falling for you. It was hard for me to accept that there exists a human being who doesn’t care a fuck about me,” he says. “And then that night when you tended my wound, when I kissed you… that was a gamble. I actually did not know what pushed me to do it, but I had always wanted to kiss you. I always make love to you in my dreams; I kiss you everywhere, and you reciprocate my feelings. But then, they were only dreams. It was a gamble I could lose. I could have lost you, but…”
“But you did not,” she continues for him, her voice as soft as his caress on her face.
“I did not.” He agrees, leaning forward to kiss her on the lips. His tongue explores her, and his hands slip through her blouse. He feels her curves under him, and he knows that she’s already aroused. Heat travels from his face down to his stomach, to his groin, to his thing that trembles and squeezes when he sees Angel so ready for him, creating this lovely discomfort all over his body. How he wants to take her down this instant, to make her knees tremble and to hear her moan his name. Her nipples stiffen and harden under the touch of his fingertips, and the softness of her breasts causes a stirring sensation at the pit of his stomach which he desires to be alleviated soon.
Kissing down her neck, she smells the aroma of that wonderful night in the Niagara, in the shower, to be particular.
“And I will not,” Hunter adds, whispering to her ears.
And Angel knows Hunter will not lose her. No. Not. Never.
“Hunter,” she reluctantly breaks the kiss. “Not here.” An incessant need begins to grow deep inside her. Her excitement is becoming clear to him, and desire only races through her more as Hunter starts to kiss her again.
Not here…
Chapter 26 – Sweet Coffee
“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Stone?” the terrified hotel manager asks, appearing to be so hesitant to hand Hunter the departure papers. He and Angel checked into the hotel at twelve midnight, and they’re leaving after they break their fast at the hotel restaurant. They’re supposed to stay in Bogota Marriot for one more night before they fly to Cartagena, but Angel simply persuaded him to throw out the itinerary and do something more fun—more spontaneous. It was not a hard thing to have Hunter convinced, though. As a matter of fact, he finds intense pleasure in the way Angel convinced him. “It’s the best room we have here,” adds Mr. Frantic Hotel Manager. “Does the menu displease you? I can h
ave the chef change the entire course of the day.”
But Hunter only smiles and signs the damn departure papers and has his credit card swiped by the lady-in-charge.
Finally giving up, the hotel manager offers their car service to bring their guests to their destination.
“We’d like to go on foot,” Angel says as she laces her arm around Hunter’s.
“Someone’s going to fetch our baggage,” Hunter adds, handing over a piece of paper with a name of his trusted courier to the dumbfounded hotel manager. He plans to have their things transported to Gautupe ahead of them. For sure, George and Sarah will be taken aback to see their things arriving first, and most of all, without them.
***
Hunter only carries a light back pack with a few clothes in it while Angel is good with her small white sling bag. In a white long sleeve polo shirt folded up his arm and a pair of white knee-length cargo pants, Hunter looks heavenly. Some of the buttons from his throat down to his chest is open, generously showing some of his skin. Angel, on the other hand, wears a comfortable long coral sundress
Following his promise to her, he keeps his credit cards on the deepest portion of his bag, away from his reach. For this day and tomorrow, they are going to live like normal travelers on a backpacker’s budget. No sophisticated hotels for tonight. No fancy restaurants. No rides if not needed. Hunter does not really think it’s too much of a challenge, though. When the need arises, he can always mobilize his special network of aid. There’s no harm in trying. As a matter of fact, he believes it’s going to be a fun experience. He’s never really commuted all his life, never tried to sleep in rundown hotels, and most definitely have never eaten in street restaurants. Now, he’s looking forward to the experience and finding all about the spontaneity Angel was excitedly talking about.
Walking along the busy streets of La Candelaria, Hunter holds her hand tightly. The city is beautiful, but it’s not the budget and the unfamiliarity of the place he’s worried about—it’s Angel’s safety. The downtown looks safe, but he can’t be too lax, can he? With all these strangers around them, his eyes have never been so active until now. There are motorcycles running at high speed everywhere and people who conspicuously walk past them, oblivious to who they are. Of course, they know they’re tourists, and Hunter could not just help but be wary of the fact that some road accidents might actually happen. To tell the truth, he’s no longer enjoying the spectacle the city could offer because he’s busy looking around, watching out for potential danger.
When he hears Angel laugh, shame washes over him.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he says. “But I can’t help it. I think we should have hired a body guard or two… could have alerted the city police of our presence.”
“Hunter, no one knows who you are. We’re in Colombia,” she tells him, suppressing her laughter. “Listen, let’s just enjoy this, okay? Don’t worry too much.” She stands on the balls of her foot and brushes her lips gently against his.
“That’s quite a good remedy,” Hunter murmurs, wanting more of it.
“Not here.” She points her finger at the top of his lips. She means it this time.
They turned left around the corner and saw a street jammed with old colonial homes painted in bright colors. They vary from two to three floors but not going beyond that. The sculptures perched on the rooftop are so eccentric that they draw people to look up to the skies. Graffiti on the walls of some houses and even on the walls are common. The pretty cobbled streets are cluttered with bohemian shops, craft stalls, galleries, and cafés. A quick climb up a hill reveals more museums, restaurants, and bookshops. The neighborhood is very lively and noisy, with a cacophony of sounds by street musicians, stall vendors selling their wares and chattering bystanders along the boulevard.
It’s the spontaneity Angel wants to introduce to Hunter. The man is obviously a control-freak, and she wants him to loosen up, hang loose, and find fun in things that come randomly. Even when they make love, he’s in full control of her, of the pace, of everything. Now, Angel wants him to not think of anything but the unexpected.
After visiting several museums, they stop at a small coffee shop where Colombia’s famous coffee is served. Hunter always wants his coffee sugar and cream free; he wants it pure black. And so, when she found the opportunity to break the tradition, Angel orders two cups of one hundred percent creamed Colombian coffee.
“Have you ever tried other options?” she asks, grinning, as they wait for their order.
He shakes his head. “Never thought of trying. I’m okay with plain black, you know.”
“That’s why we have options. Do you know that sugar exists?” she teases him squinting her eyes. He always finds it really provoking.
“I actually prefer other forms of sweetness in my coffee,” he says.
Angel blushes at the thought of his special preference. It’s quite uniquely packaged and delivered.
“It’s a good thing too much caffeine is bad for our health,” she remarks nonchalantly as though it is a regular discussion about pies and beverages. “That’s why we drink coffee in moderation, don’t we?”
He seems unconvinced. He stretches his back against the chair and moves his neck from side to side, resting his arms across his chest as though challenging her to fire a wittier line at him.
“I don’t know. Coffee starts my day. I don’t mind having it for lunch… and especially not before sleep.” He could only gaze helplessly into her eyes as he tries to read her. By now, Angel thinks that Hunter has seen so much of her blushes and lip biting.
All this talk is not just simple coffee talk. Hunter must be grinning widely in his mind for successfully turning their conversation into a more rousing one. Angel knows where this is heading, and as much as possible, she’s trying her best to lead the topic back to simply coffee.
“Oh, that’s why you’re a terrible sleeper at night”
A glint in his eyes shows that he wants to stretch this conversation further, and he’s not giving up. He absolutely enjoys seeing her all riled up and blushing.
“Well, what do you think coffee does to me—exactly—babe?”
“It depends on the kind of coffee, Hunter.”
He slouches and bends over the table, curling his index finger in a hook shape and moving it back and forth as though calling her. Angel leans forward and readies herself for what she might hear.
When he’s near her ears, he whispers to her, “I always enjoy coffee with you, babe.” His words sound so sensual in her ears that she feels the hair around her cheek and her neck stand. Evidently, he means a whole other thing.
It’s no question whether he enjoys her company or not, because obviously his body language says more about it. With the way he’s staring at her, Angel thinks that Hunter could not wait for the day to end and to have her for himself alone.
“Do you?” he says, propping his arms casually on the table. His question shoots her modest outlook about sex right to the face—though his expression is not questioning at all. For all she knows, Hunter has successfully woven the trap, and here she is falling into it. She has already gone too far in his desire for Hunter that walking away and pretending that she does not want it is useless now.
She’s not the kind who’d go for it heedlessly. Doing it without commitment is just plain inconceivable to her. Hunter asking if she enjoys every intimate moment with him offends her. He knows her so well, so what is it for?
For self-gratification?
For assurance?
Her responses to him whenever they make love are tell-tale signs. Hunter did not have to ask.
But since he wants to hear it from her so eagerly, perhaps she’d oblige.
She rises from her seat and urges him to follow her by pulling him out of his. She asks the waitress for the direction to the powder room and drags Hunter along.
Once they reach the empty room, which is fortunately isolated and is quite a walk away from the counter and the tables, A
ngel hurriedly shuts the door behind her. But she turns speechless when Hunter draws a sharp breath and crashes his mouth to hers in sweet revolution.
But this should not be. She should be the one controlling the whole thing, not him. And so, when she tries to break free from him, he tightens his grasp, abandoning his leisurely pace. His mouth seeks for hers in full desperation and desire.
He pushes her against the tiled wall, quickly planting his arms on the wall to prevent her from escaping. His expert tongue taunts her lips apart and shoves inside her on a short voyage to redemption.
It is impossible to keep her body still and her breathing normal as his touch shots bliss all over her. Hurriedly, he lets his hand trail downwards against her soft skin, past her cheek, down her neck, to her shoulder blades, and down her clothed body. His hands are seeking a way to get through the fabric of her clothes, already missing the softness of her breasts.
Wanting to feel him as well, she slides her arms around his neck, pushing his head down to her so she could kiss him back as passionately. Her fingers go into his hair, clutching a handful of it every time she feels the extreme need to displace the bursts of pleasure she’s feeling. She feels his body stiffen when she begins to explore his mouth with her tongue, learning his way into pacifying a crazed beast. Then, her hands slide down his back, pushing him closer to her. Each contact with him sends a wave of heat through her.
Hunter pins her down the wall, and she gasps when she feels his manhood so damn responsive to the call of need. When she feels him hard on her belly, her stomach starts to create an irresistible pulse of enormous pleasure. There is nothing thorough and measured in his approach. Hunter moves with the urgency of a man who desperately needs to claim every ounce of her body, every fiber of her soul, and every sense of her heart—urgent but lenient, desperate but lovely. He moves his body against her, rubbing his member against her, making her groan continuously as an intense explosion of heat races through her veins. A surge of sensations builds up within her remaining sense—all others dead and lost in his touch.
